All Because of a Dagger
by Monster'n'Disguise
Summary: She suffers from heartbreak and tries to drown her sorrows in blood. Annabeth doesn't blame her. Not one bit. ONESHOT


Disclaimer: I do not own the Percy Jackson or The Heroes of Olympus franchise. All rights go to Rick Riordan. Please favorite, follow, and review!

How she hates it. That feeling. That feeling of helplessness. The inability to change your fate. Not that she believes in fate. Not even close. But she does believe in meddling gods that think they can never be wrong. But they can. They can always be wrong. Even when in their own domain. Like love. Like Venus's love.

The goddess had warned her. Venus had warned her that Jason was not her chosen beloved. But she hadn't believed her. Even goddess's could make mistakes. That was something she knew from experience. But her ignorance had been the end of her. Because then HE came. And with that girl… that… that… Piper Mclean.

It was hard to blame her. The girl had merely been ignorant. Just as she had. Piper believed that Jason was her chosen beloved. Just as she had believed that Jason was her chosen beloved. It wasn't Piper's fault that when she stepped off that ship, her heart had broken. It wasn't her fault when, alongside the hyperactive son of Hephaestus and the smart but solemn daughter of Athena that her idea was crushed. Her idea that Jason, smart, powerful, orderly, brave, heroic, roman Jason, was her chosen beloved.

So now she sits on her bed. Her dogs are with the Vulcan children for a tune-up. Her fellow legionnaires and centurions are at dinner with the Greeks. She is alone. Her dagger's handle rests in her left hand. She stares at a wall across the room. That blank, white, wall. She is a daughter of Bellona. She is a daughter of war. War is her specialty. She can deal with war. She can deal with physical pain. But this is not war. This is not physical pain. This is heartbreak. This is mental pain. And this is something she cannot deal with. Mind made up, she lifts up the dagger. Hovering over her right forearm, she has one last moment of hesitation. She shakes it off and sends the dagger plunging down. Blood spatters across the floor and walls.

She stares at the wound. Blood runs down her arm and hand, before dripping onto her leg and dripping further down onto the floor. She slowly drags the dagger, forming a bloody J. Then she pulls it out and plunges it back in again. This time, she drags it into the form of a bloody A. The vicious cycle repeats until she has the accursed name on her forearm. The accursed JASON.

Tears slowly slip from the corners of her eyes to the bottom of her cheeks. But it is not from the dagger or from the pain. It is from the happiness that she feels. The happiness of not having to deal with mental pain. Because now it is physical pain. And the physical pain, she can take.

She repeats her cycle of blood and carving more and more often. More and more dinners, lunches, breakfasts, games, and friendly "bonding" activities between the Greeks and the Romans. They are all being skipped out on in favor of replacing mental pain with physical pain. Each time she lowers the dagger into her flesh, she lowers it deeper and deeper. She does not waste nectar and ambrosia on her carving of the accursed name. She does not need to. She puts on bandages and puts on armor and no one suspects her agony filled habit. Except one.

Annabeth Chase was much smarter than most. She was also much more perceptive. And she suspected. The blonde suspected that she was dealing with her heartbreak. And dealing with it in a bad way. Her eyes were a dead giveaway of all her suspicions. When she stated that she had been brushing Scipio during dinner, Annabeth's eyes had become cold, calculating slits. The Greek Architect had searched her over carefully. Annabeth had noticed a red tint of blood and a white tint of bandages skillfully hidden underneath her gloves. And so the girl had gotten into the habit of visiting her during dinners, lunches, war games, and other activities to see if she was hurting herself. She did a good job of hiding her habit from Annabeth. She made sure to completely cover her tracks. But one night, she slipped up. And Annabeth caught her.

It was a full moon. Dinner would be ending soon and it meant that the campers and legionaries would be going to their respective quarters. It also meant that the Chase girl would be visiting her soon. She needed to be quick. The dagger penetrated her forearm deeply. The bloody tip could now be seen piercing through the bottom of her arm. What was once a sharp, golden edge had become a dull, red, end. But that didn't prevent blood from oozing out of her arm when she brought the dagger downwards. She was now losing much more blood than was healthy. Her vision was blurred and was fading fast. But she was not worried. This was not the first time she had passed out. No, she had passed out many times before this. As she leaned back onto her bed, her blood-soaked, tear-stained bed, ready to collapse, a knock sounded at her front door.

When she had awoken, blonde hair and gray eyes were the first thing to be noticeable. Her arm was covered in fresh, white bandages. An empty can of nectar and an opened pack of ambrosia sat on the bed table. The dagger was in Annabeth's hands, being wiped clean with a soggy towel. As she sat up, a damp washcloth slid from her face. Her alarm clock read 12:37. The sun was high in the sky. Just how long had she been out? And just how long had the Greek been taking care of her?

She was quick to speak the question on her mind. Answers flooded her brain, causing a headache. But she didn't care. Right now, the only thing she cared about was getting answers. The girl slowly finished cleaning the dagger in hands, before setting it down on the bed table, alongside the medicine. She placed the towel in a bowl of warm water and watched as the blood dissolved. After what seemed like an eternity, the Chase girl turned to face her. The blonde's mouth opened and she gave her answer. An answer that shocked her completely.

Annabeth had never left her side since she had lost consciousness. She had tended to the wound as best as she could without outside help from the Apollo children or others. The word JASON was no longer readable. It instead was a thick bruise colored a nasty red with a purple tinge to it. If she had really spent that much time helping a person she barely even knew… then perhaps the Greeks weren't so bad after all.

That day had changed a lot of her views. She now believed that the Greeks weren't evil demons waiting to take over all of New Rome. She now believed that Annabeth wasn't a heartless jerk with eyes only for the son of Poseidon. And she now believed that Jason wasn't needed in her life for her to be happy. And the largest view change of all? That Annabeth was not just another one of those Greeks. She wasn't just another one of those children of Athena. She was a reliable ally, and maybe, just maybe… a friend as well. And it was all because of a dagger.


End file.
